“Tell him the Duke of Reddington said he was to let you stay there until further notice.”
“The Duke of—” she echoed incredulously. “The duke might have something to say about that!”
“Daphne, I don’t have time to argue the matter with you! Just go!”
He called me Daphne. Her heart rejoiced, but she hadn’t the luxury of savoring the sound of her name on his lips. “Mr. Tisdale—Theo—you will be careful, won’t you?”
Theo had already begun to turn away, but at this entreaty he stopped, seized her by the arms, and kissed her swift and hard on the mouth. The kiss was over almost as soon as it began, but when he would have released her, she flung her arms about his neck and kissed him back with all the love and passion and fear she could never put into words. But if she had thought to deter him from the path he was set on, she was doomed to disappointment. All too soon, he broke the kiss and set her firmly at arm’s length.
“Now, go,” he said a bit breathlessly, putting a hand to the small of her back and giving her a little nudge in the direction of the barn.
It made her want to cry, the fact that the kiss she had so longed for had come under such circumstances, and the knowledge that he might not live long enough to kiss her again. But he was urging her to go, and if she could do nothing else to help him, she could at least obey him in this. She dared not look back for fear her feelings would betray her, but picked up her skirts and ran toward the barn, avoiding the wide double doors that allowed the light within to spill out, exposing her flight to anyone who might happen to glance that way. Instead, she made for the rear of the building, then circled the far corner—
And ran into Sir Valerian Wadsworth with sufficient force to knock the breath from her body.
“My dear Miss Drinkard!” he exclaimed, taking her by the shoulders to steady her. His hand was warm on her bare skin, and she realized her gown had slipped from one shoulder in her mad flight. “Where have you been? Your mother has been greatly disturbed by your absence, and could not be easy until I offered to go in search of you.”
Recalling Theo’s instructions, she stammered in between gulps of air, “I was feeling faint—stepped outside—Mr. Tisdale—fresh air—”
“I see,” he said smoothly, looking past her to the meadow beyond. “But where is Mr. Tisdale now?”
“He is—gone. He—” He’s gone to confront fifty angry men armed with torches and pitchforks, all on his own. No, surely the time for dissembling was past. “Sir Valerian, the workers are marching on the mill. He’s gone to—to try and stop them. Please, you must help him! Perhaps they will listen to you.”
He drew her hand through the curve of his arm and patted it soothingly. “I daresay he must have misunderstood, and the men have merely gone in search of stronger drink than anything on offer tonight. Pray do not trouble yourself! Let me take you back inside. Will you not allow me the honor of partnering you for the next set? I believe it will be forming soon.”
“I assure you, there can be no mistake! We should—we must do something!”
His voice hardened, and the hand covering hers tightened painfully. “If it is truly as you say, Miss Drinkard, then you would do well to stay out of matters that don’t concern you.”
Startled and a bit frightened by the change in his tone, she looked up at him. The obsequious manner he had always adopted toward her was gone. The lines about his mouth were cast into strong relief by the moonlight, and his eyes glittered, cruel and utterly ruthless.
“It was you,” she said, stunned by the realization. “That’s what the meetings were about. You incited the mill workers to riot.”
“I?” His eyebrows rose in an exaggerated indication of surprise. “I’ve been here all evening, entertaining my guests. You should know, for you danced with me yourself.”
“Yes, I did, didn’t I?” Her voice held more conviction now. “I must be sure to bathe when I return home. Suddenly I feel dirty.”
He released her hand, but only long enough to grab her arm and pull her to him, so close that they stood nearly nose to nose. “Perhaps you feel dirty because you are dirty. Let me remind you that the meetings you so deplore were held beneath your mother’s roof, with her full cooperation and your own assistance. You’re in this up to your pretty neck, my dear, and if I go down, I won’t hesitate to take you and your ambitious mother with me. Now, you’re going back inside with me, do you understand? You’re going to dance with me, and you’re going to like it.”
You’re going to like it . . . The words rang in her head, warning her, reminding her of—what? You’re going to like it . . . Like it . . . Like . . . The next time a man does something you don’t like . . .
Oh, Theo, she thought, I hope you’re right. She took a deep breath, then snatched up her skirts with her free hand and drove her knee into Sir Valerian’s groin with all the force she could muster.
The results astounded her. Sir Valerian dropped to his knees with a groan of agony, the hands that had gripped her now cupped protectively over the site of the assault. Forgetting, at least for a moment, the need for haste, Daphne stared down in rapt wonder at what she had wrought.
“It works!”
At the sound of her voice, Sir Valerian looked up, his face turning quite purple as he unleashed upon her a tirade in which he castigated her as a Jezebel, among other things, most of which were
